Monday, August 16, 2004

A Western Girlfriend Day!

If you move too fast, she'll shoot you between the eyes. If you cheat, at cards or at love, she'll shoot a hole clean through the offending appendage, so clean you'll be able to stare down the bullet hole at the cracks of the floorboards below before a single drop of blood pours forth, then she'll wash the wound clean with a splash of her shot of whiskey and say, "Let's keep playing" (note: if you cheat at love, the offending appendage might be your penis, the shooting of which appendage will understandably not be taken quite so lightly). If you sit on her hat, she'll shoot you so many times you'll end up in seven parts of the room at once.

She cries though. She cries so hard she's afraid she'll never stop. She's really just a girl beneath the gunfight saunter and the chaw. Surrounded by so much death she has no choice but to cry to keep from going out of her mind. If you ever breathe a word about her crying, she'll hold your head to the dirt and put a bullet through your temple so that the bullet buries some of your brain into the ground before the undertaker gets to take a crack.

It's clearly sexual, what keeps you two together. You're just a prospector who believes in God. You've never hurt a fly and when you stub your toe you say, "Drat." Neither of you are Olympiads in the sack. You both just want the same thing.

"For it to never end," she says.

"Inside forever," you say. You hold her hands down on the pillow up behind her head. She lets you keep her there.